


Untitled Pancham Game

by Nyanoka



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Pocket Monsters: Sword & Shield | Pokemon Sword & Shield Versions
Genre: Background Relationships, Black Comedy, Canon ages, Fluff, M/M, POV Alternating, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-18 10:55:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28616916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nyanoka/pseuds/Nyanoka
Summary: It is a lovely day in Spikemuth, and you are a horrible Pancham.
Relationships: Beet | Bede/Mary | Marnie, Dande | Leon/Hop, Masaru | Victor/Nezu | Piers
Comments: 9
Kudos: 21





	1. Pancham

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is a tongue-in-cheek story made to poke fun at my tendencies with the characters just like with the story "Legality," so please note that the humor is rather off-color, more so in the later chapters. All chapters are finished and will be posted on a schedule.

It isn’t that you hate your Trainer’s partner but well…

You do.

Very much so, almost as much as you hate your bedtime—10 p.m. sharp and always accompanied by your Trainer’s pout as he lifts you up and carries you to your bed, freshly made every morning and always tinted by the smell of lavender detergent.

You don’t think you’re wrong for it. You think your Trainer can do better, much better, than Piers—that’s his name, rough and a bit hard on the tongue—and attract someone less well…ugly and misshapen.

And less smelly too. You don’t like how he smells like smoke, acidic, and mint.

Really, he looks like one of those skeletons that your Trainer’s mother likes to set up around Halloween or that you find on a clearance rack the day after and always ignored for the half-priced chocolate. He’s certainly thin enough for it, frame skeletal and gaunt and hair gaudy. Really, all that he’s missing are the yellow markdown stickers and price tag. Though, you doubt that he would actually be able to sell. He's so ugly.

He already has the slack-jawed, vacant-eyed look and boniness down to a tee after all, and he’s pale enough to be mistaken for one or perhaps even for a ghost. Ideally, a sheet ghost, so you don’t have to look at him.

Nonetheless, he’s ugly, horribly so, and you don’t quite understand his appeal among humans, especially with your Trainer. But you blame that on their poor eyesight and poorer common sense.

You’ve had enough playdates with Charmander to understand that. Since his arrival, Charmander has been a chatterbox, always eager to talk about his previous Trainer’s lack of directional skills and his past shenanigans, always drawing a migraine from Charmander’s father.

Poor taste and poor common sense are apparently human traits much like how your brown and cream fur is yours.

Thus, it is up to you to save your Trainer from a—in your very expert opinion—irreversible mistake.

Piers is too ugly, too mean, and plainly, too stupid to deserve your sweet and kind and quite frankly, cute and naïve Trainer. Victor—that’s your Trainer’s name—is too smitten to notice how inadequate Piers is.

Piers doesn’t even feed you extra treats or midnight snackies like your Trainer does or give you decent rubbies. His fingers are too bony for that. It feels like falling on a patch on thorns.

Thus, it is up to you to save him from his mistakes.

It definitely isn’t about your snackies or about how your Trainer pays more attention to Piers than to you nowadays.

It definitely isn’t.

You are the baby of the family, not him. Well, you, Grookey, and now Charmander, but, nonetheless, Piers is not a baby. Even with his putrid scent, he is too big and too ugly to be the baby.

And Victor, no matter how much you love him, isn’t the baby either. You don’t really understand why Piers calls him that or why he calls him “his little boy” or “love.” Victor isn’t as small as you are after all.

Despite your curiosity, however, Rillaboom won’t explain it when you ask at breakfast. Your friend only frowns, untying his apron and sighing as Grookey looks on curiously from his spot on his head.

Though, Toxtricity—he’s yellow unlike Piers’s—almost told you until Urshifu had punched him, hurried and panicked and hard enough to thrust his face into his cereal, League-certified and safe for Pokémon of course.

Whatever the case, there isn’t anyone to stop you. Rillaboom is too busy with Grookey, another of your playmates, nowadays to scold you and the rest of Victor’s Pokémon are too amused or ambivalent to care.

You’re fairly certain of that.

And thus, you resolve to make Piers’s life a living hell.

You aren’t obvious about it—you don’t want your Trainer to be disappointed or upset after all—but you do not let up. You will not let him win.

Though, you don’t physically harm him. Instead, you do much worse.

You inconvenience him.

He can’t complain to Victor without getting a chiding himself about pettiness after all. You are very small and very adorable after all, the perfect combination for mischievousness.

Furthermore, you have perfected your pout, wide-eyed and a bit teary. You may not know Baby-Doll Eyes like your mentor Obstagoon does, but it’s close enough.

At the very least, it’s good enough to get you out of trouble with Victor. Though, not so much as with Piers. He knows your tricks just as you know his, not that Victor ever believes him.

You’re too cute and too small—officially tiny-sized according to the Pokédex—for that, and thus, Piers comes off as petty, bully-like and jealous.

Misplaced house-keys and replacement guitar strings, emptied shampoo bottles, expensive, imported contents poured out into the sink and replaced with white hair dye, among a variety of other mishaps and inconveniences.

You even empty out his cookie tins and strip his pantries, treats and the like taken, stuffed into your mouth or used as bribes for Piers’s own Pokémon to overlook everything, and boxes returned empty.

In occasions like these, you are rather happy that you have opposable thumbs for everything.

Though, you feel a pang of guilt whenever Victor frowns, disappointment obvious at the lack of sweets and frown met with apologies from Piers as he goes for the door and for the nearby bakery. Much like yourself, Victor has a sweet tooth.

But still, you must be strong—for him and for the sake of your snackies.

They’re delicious, and more importantly, you do not want to share Victor with the ugliest and most disgusting man you have ever seen in your admittedly short life.

Really, you still don’t understand Piers’s appeal among humans. In your opinion, Obstagoon’s backside has much more appeal than him and a similar coloration to boot.

Nonetheless, you inconvenience him to the best of your abilities.

In particular, you make your walkies with him—your Trainer should be with you, not him, but Victor had called it bonding time—an absolute hell.

You know how Trainers operate—battle upon sight, especially for someone of Piers’s standing and infamy—and thus, you do the one thing that your Trainer has explicitly and firmly told you not to do.

You take off your Everstone collar.

It isn’t that you _want_ to evolve. You like being small and cute and carriable. It’s easier to get treats and headpats this way, and your evolution is nowhere near as cute or as objectively lovable. Cool perhaps but not cute enough to get extra Pecha Berries for dessert or to escape admonishments with nothing more than a pat on the head and a light scolding.

You don’t want to evolve. You would miss being carried around in your Trainer’s arms or hiding underneath his wool hat.

But you must make the sacrifice. It is for him after all.

Of course, Piers, as stupid and dimwitted as he is, knows your plans. His team is almost entirely filled with Dark Types after all. He knows what your evolution requirements are.

But still, he can’t just leave his Pokémon at home. You know your Trainer. He wouldn’t appreciate you coming home scratched up let alone evolved, and Piers knows that you will definitely make a show of everything, every single scratch and bump treated as akin to the end of the world.

And his own Toxtricity isn’t an option either. Your Trainer has been borrowing him lately to bring along on his grocery store trips. Rather unfortunately, your Trainer is easily distracted and not all too good with directions.

Thus, Piers must bring his own Pokémon.

Of course, he tries to put the collar back on, but you always take it off again, sometimes tossing it back into his face and other times hiding it—behind the fridge, underneath the sofa, anywhere where it would cause him trouble. In these moments, you are glad for your thumbs and for Piers’s stupidly stubborn nature.

He couldn’t force you to wear it, and as a result, he must take the spare collar—it isn’t as nice as your regular one unfortunately, but it doesn’t have an Everstone attached—and use it.

Though, you don’t make the walk easy for him. Sometimes, you refuse to walk, small body carried around, and sometimes, you tug on the leash, nearly dragging him along and always toward a crowd of Trainers.

He may not battle with you, but you would still get the experience, a consequence of the immutable Exp. Share.

Thus, it is a hell for him.

He couldn’t make eye contact, and he couldn’t frequent the more crowded, nicer areas. Instead, he must take the back alleys or even take you on your walk at odd hours. When you go on your walkies with him, Piers rushes, always avoiding everyone’s gazes and actions coming off as jerkish.

You hope that it, combined with the number of inconveniences and accidents that you’ve caused, would be enough to separate them, but it isn’t.

Instead, Piers only glares at you when Victor looks away, and you do the same.

That is your one unspoken agreement with him. You and he would never let Victor know about your spats and disagreements. You both are on your best behavior whenever he is around.

But still, you refuse to give up.

You couldn’t give up. It is for your beloved Trainer after all.

You refuse to share him with Piers, disgusting and inadequate and ugly as he is.

And thus, you resolve to make everything worse, more inconvenient as the days pass.

You must make it inconvenient.

It is a lovely day in Spikemuth, and you are a horrible Pancham.

And every day upon waking, you ruin Piers’s life.


	2. Raihan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is a lovely day in Spikemuth, and you are a horrible Pancham.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah...the black comedy tag comes in starting with this chapter...please mind that the humor is off-color.

It is a lovely day in Hammerlocke, and you are a very handsome and very intelligent and very humble Gym Leader.

And you are currently stuck talking with your—rather unfortunately, very stupid, very dimwitted, and admittedly, kind of ugly—friend Piers.

You would much rather continue working on your dinner, a delicious batch of linguini topped with oven-roasted chicken and a side of toasted bread slathered with garlic confit, than talk with Piers but you would also like to be a good friend.

Thus, you find yourself preparing your ingredients as Rotom floats around you, phone screen showing an incredibly frazzled Piers, hair now pure white rather than his normal stripes. Behind him on the table is Pancham’s Dusk Ball—black, green, and orange sphere shaking in obvious mirth.

Carefully mincing your garlic, you ask, “Why don’t you just tell your boywife about what Pancham’s been doing?” You frown for a moment. You hate mincing garlic. It takes too long since you use fresh, unpeeled ones rather than pre-minced or pre-peeled, but you won’t let Flygon do it, not after last time. “Or just keep him in his Ball?”

You can hear Piers’s scowl through the screen even before he speaks.

“Don’t call him that, and I _do_.” Piers accentuates the last word. “He just keeps gettin’ out, and I don’t want him whinin’ to Victor ‘bout how I didn’t let him out all day. You know how that lil’ brat is.”

You do. Unfortunately, you are the first person Piers calls whenever he’s pissed about a tiny little bear outwitting him. Really, how dumb do you have to be for a year-old Pancham to outwit you? He doesn’t even reach Piers’s knees. Not to mention the differing coloration. The slight shimmer should have given Pancham away on every one of his escapades. How does that little bear sneak around without his noticing?

Though, you wish you weren’t his first choice, but Sonia had been smart enough to put his number on a ignore list every night before dinner, and you aren’t quite sure what Leon does during these hours.

Probably something illegal like murder or incest if you know your friends well enough.

You almost wish your friend group wasn’t as dysfunctional as it is—you’re all banned from entering Almia after last year’s near-international incident for example—but you can’t exactly get new friends or get rid of your current ones. You would have no friends at that point, and you also kind of like how normal and well-adjusted they make you look in comparison. At the very least, if everyone, including you by association, gets arrested one day as you expect, you will be the most handsome one among the bunch.

The one that everyone visits in prison and sends love letters to.

Perhaps vindicated as well once your lack of wrongdoings is brought to light and then you would write a memoir on the occasion—a bestseller that becomes a classic. You think that they would let you out early anyhow.

Unperturbed, you ask Piers again, “But, isn’t he your boywife though?”

You’re definitely not into prepubescent little boys like Piers is—you like old men the last time you checked, and Lance’s boudoir photos are still underneath your pillow, lovingly framed if a bit, uh, used—but you assume that is the correct term. You like to be hip and cool with the kids and your Gym Trainers, so you browse social media frequently enough to pick up on the lingo.

“Well, yeah,” Piers begrudgingly admits after a moment. “But that’s a personal nickname, you know? When I want to tease him. It’s cute when he blushes.”

A bit disgusting, really disgusting actually, and information that you would prefer to erase from your mind—you do after a moment of pained consideration—but you nod, nonetheless.

You’re just glad it isn’t like the last time that Piers had called, something about Pancham almost barging in mid-coitus and with him already balls-deep inside a moaning, writhing Victor. Apparently Urshifu had managed to distract Pancham before he could pick the lock and witness an unfortunate, childhood trauma-defining scene. You don't think that they offer that particular brand of therapy for Pokémon, nothing covered by health insurance anyhow.

Ugh, you wince, almost nicking your fingers. You didn’t want to remember that or the details, all _lovingly_ given and incredibly, unfortunately detailed right down to the color of the bedsheets and the sweat placement. You don’t want to imagine what Piers’s orgasm face looks like let alone the orgasm of an eleven-year-old boy whose balls haven’t even dropped yet.

You don’t want to fuck and marry a little boy after all. Piers had told you about that in excruciating detail as well a few phone calls ago.

You have no interest in that or anything of that nature, especially not with Victor. You aren’t Piers or perhaps even Leon—you’re still questioning his relationship with his brother—and you are actually normal and not a criminal. You like people twice your age, not someone whose age could be found on an analog clock.

You would like to keep it that way as well.

Though, you are rather certain that you and everyone associated with your friend group is on the International Police’s watchlist, especially after that last conversation and last year's incident.

After a pause, Piers continues, “But still, that damn bear almost evolved today. Thought he was finally gonna be good and wear his collar, but the bastard threw it away when I wasn’t lookin’.”

“Couldn’t you put it back on?” Crap, you almost nicked your fingers again with the knife. You have to be careful with it. You recently sharpened it on your imported whetstone—freshly shipped from Johto and a gift from Lance.

At your words, Piers’s frown deepens. Though, you can’t really take his annoyance seriously. With his new hair color, he’s even paler than before. He wouldn’t be out of place in a haunted house you think. Perhaps he could get hired as an extra for a skeleton or some other supernatural creature if one ever got misplaced or broken? He’s gaunt enough to be mistaken for one, especially around Halloween time and with a costume on. You have proof of that. At Victor’s request, he was a vampire last year—gaudy cape, fangs, and all.

You still shudder at the memory of the phone call you received a few hours after the Halloween party. Piers, to his credit, is, at the very least, consistent about how disgustingly open he is about his apparently _fruitful_ , for a lack of better word, sex life with Victor.

Creative and apparently into raunchy BDSM roleplay as well.

You didn’t need to learn that both of them like to switch or that Piers likes to be the little boy sometimes.

Goddamn shotacon.

You wish he would go back to fucking his little boywife’s gaping, dripping ass—you unfortunately know Piers very well, and you doubt that Victor’s asshole is anywhere near its original shape or tightness—instead of calling you every night like an unpaid intern during election session.

“Raihan, you dumb bitch. I have.” It’s a bit uncalled for in your opinion, but still, you have also called him _dumbass_ , _dumb whore_ , and _whiny_ _bitch_ in return before on a variety of occasions, so you let it slide—a freebie. Though, you make a note to punch him the next time you meet. Extra hard as well. “ _He has opposable thumbs. He takes it off._ ”

Oh. You nod at that—you know how Piers gets on his tirades—before offering another solution.

“Can you leave your Dark types at home then? He can’t evolve without them.”

“I would, but Victor would never forgive me if he came home with a scratch,” Piers replies, “and he likes to take Toxtricity with him to the store. He’s not as bad as Leon with directions, but he’s close. Easily distracted too. Toxtricity keeps him on track. Last time he went without him, he came back three hours later with a cartful of handmade candy and cookies. No groceries.”

Oh. Another nod. It’s better to let him wear himself out rather than interrupt. You learned your lesson about that about sixty-five phone calls ago.

“Then catch another Pokémon, a non-Dark type,” you say. “There’s plenty of them around Spikemuth and the Wild Area.”

Piers shakes his head. “I can’t. Pancham would think he’d won then, and I refuse to lose to him.”

At his words, Pancham’s Ball shakes on the table again, obviously mocking in his silent laughter.

You open your mouth again to speak—Piers’s logic makes no sense in your opinion—but you quickly close it. You don’t want an argument this close to dinnertime, and you already know that Piers is a stubborn idiot.

You only let him continue on his rant, something about Pancham dropping his keys off the second-floor balcony and into a filled dumpster.

At the very least, he and Victor seem genuinely happy together. That’s something, albeit something highly illegal and incredibly unethical. Really, you’re surprised that he hasn’t been arrested yet. They aren’t exactly secretive about everything, and Galar always loves a public scandal to gossip over. Granted, they would also arrest you by association, and you don’t quite want that. You like your house and the lack of iron bars on the windows.

Furthermore, you just got a nice sand garden and pond installed out back for your Pokémon. Would be a bit of a waste if you were to get arrested now.

Nevertheless, you hope Piers learns his lesson from this. You had told him it would be a bad idea beforehand and so had Sonia and Leon alongside all of their other friends.

From your own personal experience, Pokémon eggs have never been a good Christmas gift. Pokémon themselves certainly, but not eggs. The newborns always ended up getting too attached to the parents and taking after them.

Really, Piers should have simply considered an Applin like everyone else rather than a Pokémon egg, an incredibly expensive and shiny one at that.

After all, Pancham and he are too much alike.

Petty, aggressive, and unable to share.

A bit stupid too really.

Nonetheless, it is a lovely day in Hammerlocke, and you are a very handsome and very intelligent and very humble Gym Leader.

And you refuse to let Piers ruin another of your nights with his petty bullshit.

Clicking your tongue—Piers, stubborn dumbass that he is, doesn’t notice the noise in his tirade of course—you tell Rotom to mute him which your reliable partner does with gusto.

Though rather unfortunately, you had forgotten about Rotom’s new accessibility features—automatic subtitles.

You don’t want to understand what Piers’s words are, but at the very least, it’s quieter than before.

Moving your garlic to a bowl, you begin on the sauce, a nice, pale mixture with basil and a few other ingredients.

You refuse to let Piers ruin this too.

Though, you couldn’t quite help the curse that leaves your mouth as your knife nicks your finger and blood drips onto your nice, marble countertop. You paid extra for it to be imported from Hoenn.

Fuck.

You need a bandage now alongside an ibuprofen. Maybe new friends too or at the very least, a new phone number.

Even without the volume on, you can hear Piers’s cursing as Pancham escapes his Ball, small body soon scrambling toward the door for some unknown, godforsaken place and soon followed by Piers and his own Rotom phone. You almost feel pity for it. Unlike you, it has to deal with Piers for almost every single moment of its waking life. It doesn’t even get paid for it.

Fucking dumbasses. They do this every night and then drag you into it. Granted, you also answer Piers’s calls every night, but still, fucking dumbasses. Inconsiderate as well.

At the very least, you are right about their similar personalities and stupidity. You like being right.

It almost makes up for your bleeding fingertip and your now ruined dinner.

It is a lovely day in Galar, and everyone except you is an idiot and a criminal.

You are certain of that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It may seem like I hate Piers, but I actually love him a lot. I'm just not happy unless he's having his life ruined, and I love poking fun at my favorites. Also I'm technically one fic away from evening out the Piers/Victor tag with the Piers/Gloria tag (unless someone's posts another one of the latter anyhow)...I currently own every single tag in the Piers/Victor tag, and it's like oh boy...desperate...
> 
> Maybe I'll do an extra chapter for Marnie as well if I have time...also pushing the WTKB agenda again...


	3. Victor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is a lovely day in Spikemuth, and you are a horrible Pancham.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to add in two more chapters tbh.

It is a lovely day in Wyndon and you are a very cute little boy with a very large problem.

You don’t know what to get your lover for his birthday, and it’s coming up fast. Thus, you have enlisted the help of your dear friend Hop and your somewhat less dear friend Bede. You would have invited Marnie as well, but she had been busy today, Gym duties as it were officially. Similarly, Allister had given a similar reasoning when you had called him, voice stuttering in a familiar shyness.

Really, you just think it’s just an excuse. She knows your inclinations after all, and you know hers as well.

She, unlike Hop and Bede, isn’t stupid nor is she bound by the Bro Code to help.

Though, outside of the name itself, you aren’t exactly sure what the Bro Code entails—your mom won’t let you watch that TV show—but Hop has agreed readily and Bede had followed once you promised him another battle and your limited-edition Star Alcremie keychain, soft plush body a light black and star decorations and eyes a vibrant pink rather than the normal pastel yellow. It had been a promotional item for one of Piers’s concerts.

Perhaps you had agreed too readily—it is a limited run item, and Bede knows how much you like Piers—but Bede doesn’t question it. You know how much he adores Opal, and you know about her Alcremie merchandise collection.

You also don’t tell him that you have two of them, one as a personal gift from Piers with the tag signed—that’s the one you will keep—and the one you got from obsessively trawling auction sites for two months with your debit card and another tab open with the official promotional pictures. You hadn’t wanted to buy a fake after all.

Your mom hadn’t been happy when the monthly statement arrived. You hadn’t overdrawn, but you had spent your entire balance to buy the little thing. Granted, you now make more than your mom and a majority of Postwick and Wedgehurst combined with your sponsorships, battles, and merchandise, but, nevertheless, she had not been happy at all.

Especially after learning that you had also been spending your lunch money on those little gachapon card packs you find by the cash register at the grocer’s. In your defense, that time hadn’t been about Piers—you had been lucky enough to find both his common and ultra-rare card in your second pack—but about Leon. Hop, despite his best efforts at the time, hadn’t been able to secure his brother’s ultra-rare card, and you had wanted to surprise him for his birthday.

Really, it, personal taste, runs in the family apparently considering your cousin Elio is in a similar situation in Alola.

A taste for older men with questionable fashion choices and life decisions as well if you understand his relationship with Guzma correctly.

Though, it doesn’t really matter considering almost your entire friend group has something similar going on. You’re fairly certain that Calem’s taste in men is worse—centuries-old hobos are an entirely different league you would think—and so is Ethan’s.

At least you aren’t dating a criminal _and_ your predecessor at the same time. You don’t understand Proton’s or Lance’s appeal, you have gotten similar jibes from Ethan as well, always in lighthearted jest.

Piers is a “bony goth bitch” as Ethan would say, but that’s part of his appeal you think. He’s _your_ bony goth bitch anyway, and that’s what matters. You’ve always liked him a lot, and you are still very giddy about the idea of dating him. You want to marry him really, and you think he feels the same.

Nonetheless, you digress.

Because of your bribery, you are left with a a somewhat sweaty best friend—Hop has always been a nervous sweater—and a scowling, incredibly pink rival in an oversized jacket.

Really, Bede is only slightly taller than you are, and you are tiny, genetics as it were.

And you all are currently in one of Wyndon’s largest shopping malls.

You haven’t really found anything that you want to give to Piers, but Hop and his Inteleon have a multitude of bags already, yours and Bede’s purchases. As the unfortunate loser of their three-way rock-paper-scissors match, he and his Pokémon have been designated as the bag carriers.

You’ve visited the kawaii store and the art shop for piles of washi tape and adorable stationary already, all Bede’s purchases and gifts for Marnie. Despite his normal grouchiness, Bede is a rather considerate boyfriend.

He must be when Marnie’s brother is Piers, the man who almost crashed the Galar economy through sheer brotherly love and stupidity. Really, even you, in all of your adoration of him, can admit that Piers’s plan to get fired was stupid.

Why not simply send in a resignation letter?

Granted, it was also driven by a desire to encourage his sister and your future sister-in-law, Marnie, but, nonetheless, it was incredibly foolish.

Galar and the Pokémon League especially depends on their annual Gym Challenge for tourism and the economy after all. Fifty percent of all League merchandise sales are made to tourists after all.

But still, you love it when a man is just the right amount of stupid.

It’s attractive in your opinion.

Or maybe it’s just Piers. You’re eleven after all. You haven’t had many crushes or lovers for that matter.

Only Piers, and you would like to keep it that way.

Nevertheless, you must find a gift for him. All you have found so far is the candy store and the bakery, all purchases then heaped onto Hop’s trembling little boy arms. You could summon Rillaboom or your own Obstagoon, fur a bright pink unlike Piers’s, but Hop was the loser of your match, and thus, he must suffer.

That and you’re still mad about Hop forgetting to feed Pancham on the one day he was supposed to watch over the little bear. You had explicitly left him a note on what to do and even a box of Pancham’s favorite snacks. You still don’t believe his lies about your dear little Pancham hiding the note and the box or how the bear had apparently bribed Yamper into short-circuiting the entire town’s power grid.

He is a good little bear after all, always so nice and polite when you’re around. He likes to give you kissies on your cheek and hide underneath your hat.

Thus, Hop’s arms are a small price to pay to assuage your wrath you think, and he had said that he wanted to start working out like his brother. Though, you don’t think Hop would look nearly as good buff, not like Leon anyhow, but you don’t really like Hop that way either—too young for your tastes—so what do you know?

It’s getting a bit late anyhow, and you must find something. You’ve bought enough things for yourself and for your friends—handmade Pokémon-shaped cookies and chocolates, some little plush animals for your bed and shelf, and even a cute pair of Yamper-themed socks for your friend Sonia—but you haven’t found anything for Piers yet.

You can’t buy him music—that’s too bland and obvious in your opinion—or something as trivial as a card, money soon tucked inside. That’s too impersonal.

You are very obviously distressed and desperate by the time you reach the food court, seats soon taken and chair legs squealing alongside what sounds like a deflating Qwilfish—Hop relieved as his bags are set down with Inteleon soon following his Trainer’s lead.

When Bede comes back with the food—another lost match of rock-paper-scissors—you are very clearly depressed, expression an imitation of when Sonia’s Yamper is refused treats. Even your hat is sagging, like the ears of a scolded dog.

“Why don’t you just make him a homecooked meal?” Bede asks in-between bites and obviously irritated. He’s still upset about losing and having to pay for everyone’s meals. “He likes your cooking, right? You always talk about it in our group chat.”

“Yeah…but I always cook for him, and I want to do something different.” You do like cooking for Piers, but you don’t want to treat his birthday like a normal occasion. You always like experimenting in the kitchen and cooking extravagant meals.

You stretch out your hands as wide as you can. “I like him this much—way more than this much, so I want it to be special.”

“S-so, what does he like?” Hop’s voice is wheezy, still tired from carrying around their bags. It isn’t a lot you think. Bede only bought about a wall’s worth of goods, and you yourself have bought nowhere near as much.

You hold up your fingers, counting off each one. “Obstagoon, music, books…” You list off more interests, moving onto your other hand. “…me, and also sex toys.”

Bede’s face is reminiscent of a Bruxish’s then, lips pursed in disgust and very pink. You’ve seen some pictures of them from Cousin Elio. He has one on his team, a massive thing that likes to nip at other people’s fingers and eat jam-filled malasadas. You remember how Elio had complained about how Molly—that’s the Bruxish’s name—had almost bitten off Guzma’s fingers. Apparently, he had teased it too much, rainbow-colored, bean-shaped treat held just barely out of reach.

Molly hadn’t liked being compared to a bean. She likes to think that she’s prettier than a bean according to Elio.

At the very least, Hop, in true best friend fashion, manages to contain his disgust long enough to reply.

“A book then?” Hop says, setting down his water bottle. “What genres does he like?”

“Horror, romance, and historical.” You shake your head then. “But he’s been busy lately, so I ‘unno if he’ll have time to read it, and I don’t know what’s good.” You interrupt before Bede can interject. “And I don’t know what he has. We have a room just for books, and he has so many digital books…”

You frown then, dejected. It isn’t that you aren’t interested in his hobbies—you are—but you can’t remember everything. Furthermore, you’re not sure if the clerk will sell to you any of the more graphic ones. You all are too young after all. You don’t want to get Piers anything too childish. You know he doesn’t really care for the young adult genre, too same-y and always following after trends.

However, you also know that he’ll appreciate them all the same, but you don’t want him to think of you as too silly. You want to impress him and get him something special.

As Bede and Hop both list off other suggestions, you shake your head to every one—too silly, too difficult to procure, and a number of other complaints, both small and substantial.

Finally, after roughly ten minutes of suggestions and food nearly eaten entirely, Bede, in a moment of frustration, makes a rather keen proposal.

“Why don’t you offer yourself then? With a sex toy or a costume or some shit. Piers is into freaky crap, so he’ll probably like whatever you do.” Bede’s words, a bit loud in his anger, draws some scandalized stares from the other table, but you pay it no mind. Instead, your expression is one of consideration, brow furrowing. Hop’s, by comparison, is one of horror. He, by virtue of being your longtime best friend understands your moods.

Though, he couldn’t leave. Bro Code and all.

That and you are the one who had offered to pay his taxi fare home. Hop, in true Hop fashion, had spent his money on more gachapon card packs. He still doesn’t have his brother’s ultra-rare card. You don’t really understand the reason for why he simply doesn’t ask his brother for it—with his massive brother complex, Leon would give it to him with no questions asked—or simply buy it off the internet, but it is Hop.

You just think he has a gambling addiction and a love for overpriced, if pretty, jpegs. Kinda like Gordie and his little digital anime games—from your shared group chat, you know Allister has been upset about that—except marginally more useful.

At least Hop can actually hold them in his hands.

Nonetheless, when you open your mouth, Bede’s expression turns into a mirror of Hop’s.

“That’s a good idea,” you say. It is. That isn’t a lie. “Do you think I should get something cute like a Kigurumi—they’re popular in Sinnoh right now, and Lucas says they’re cozy—or should I do something sexy?” Hop almost retches at the word. He doesn’t want to think about his best friend having sex. Though, Bede isn’t doing much better. “You know, like a nurse or a maid? Maybe with lacy panties and an anal plug tail? Zigzagoon-themed maybe?” You brighten up at that. “The Kigurumi could be Zigzagoon-themed as well!”

You go on and on and on, and Hop and Bede couldn’t quite leave. You promised to pay both of their fares after all, and Bede had already spent all of his money on gifts for his girlfriend. Though, almost every other table in your immediate vicinity has vacated or like Hop and Bede, are listening in morbid curiosity.

Inteleon, though, has left, scrambled off somewhere. Probably for the nearby children’s play center and its ball pit. You know he has always liked those places, and by the slight rattle in his closed hand, he had probably taken off with the last of Hop’s money as well. Much like Hop and his gachapon addiction, his Inteleon has inherited a love for crane games and collectables.

You know that he still wants limited edition Sobble plushie with the little strawberry hat. Nonetheless, that does not deter you. It only incentivizes you to continue on your rather vivid description and imagery. You even gesture with your hands. You want them to understand everything after all. Every single detail right down to the pros and cons of every costume, every position, every toy, and every combination.

Of note, your index finger and thumb forming a circle with your other hand’s index finger going through the hole, gesture causing Bede’s face to turn a shade of green, mouth gagging.

Good.

You don’t like it when people rush you or your shopping.

It is a lovely day in Wyndon, and you are a bit of an asshole, a very cute and lovable one but an asshole, nonetheless.

And you know it.

You are tiny and cute after all, mischief personified.

No one this tiny and cute could resist mischief.

And you, in your opinion, are the cutest of them all.

Well, second cutest.

You like Piers the most after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Working on my other projects right now...I like doing this one since it's a lighthearted one to poke fun at everything.
> 
> Though Pancham has to get his personality from somewhere...the apple doesn't fall far from the tree and all that.


	4. Marnie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is a lovely day in Spikemuth, and you are a horrible Pancham.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic started off as my thing to poke fun at Piers and my style of humor and writing and ship preferences tbh. There's a lot of references to some of my other fics and a almost "parody" of them tbh...a tongue-in-cheek sense of humor and all that.

It is a lovely day in Stow-on-Side, and you are the younger and much smarter of the Spikemuth siblings.

Well no, that isn’t quite accurate. There are more sibling pairs in Spikemuth than you and your brother after all. But still, you two are the most famous of them.

And you have also just politely declined Victor’s offer to hang out at the Wyndon mall with Bede and Hop. You aren’t busy like you and Allister—he had been your alibi and you his—have said, but oh, you know Victor so very well.

You don’t hate him of course—rather the opposite really considering you let him near your brother—but you _know_ him. You know how he is. Pancham has to get his personality from someone and unfortunately, his parents are your brother and your friend, two of the most dysfunctional people in Galar.

Victor, like many of your brother’s previous boyfriends, is a fucking mess, and you say that as a compliment.

 _A little, mischievous bastard_ as Raihan would say—under threat of extreme violence from your brother, he’s not supposed to curse in front of you, but it’s not like you haven’t heard it before considering Raihan never listens to your brother—though he would never call Victor himself that.

Everyone else, yes, but not Victor. Much like with Piers, Raihan had taken a liking to Victor, albeit an entirely normal liking and not an obscene and very unwholesome one. Raihan is just an asshole after all. He doesn’t fuck little boys—well, _a_ little boy—like your brother does. Raihan is relatively normal.

Your brother had been insistent on that, the fact that he only fucks Victor. He isn’t a serial little boy fucker apparently. Maybe for one little boy, but not any more than that.

Raihan is also the most normal one among his and your brother’s friends in your opinion.

If you had to describe it, you would say that Raihan likes him as an older brother would. Well, most older brothers.

You definitely think that there’s something fucked up about Leon and Hop’s relationship. Hop denies it every time you ask of course, but oh, you are certain. Very, very certain. Really, you wouldn’t be so annoyed if he didn’t bring your own brother into it every time.

Your brother is not a _siscon_ as Hop had put it. You know that for certain.

He likes little boys, not little girls, after all. After the many times that you’ve accidentally walked in on Piers and Victor, you’re fairly certain of that.

You shudder at that thought. You have seen too many sex toys, weird fetishes, and sex positions, all enthusiastically, for lack of better word, demonstrated by your brother and Victor. You’re still surprised that people can bend that way and that assholes can take that many dildos at the same time.

You love your brother, but well, you don’t want to know about his sex life. As happy as Victor makes him nowadays—you haven’t seen your brother look that lovestruck and dopey in a long time—your love doesn’t extend that far. You don’t want to hear about their escapades in bondage and roleplay let alone see them.

You aren’t the paparazzi after all.

Furthermore, you are not the right gender for entry into Piers’s horribly chosen and incredibly illegal strike zone, and you are glad for that. You do not like your brother that way. You aren’t Leon after all. You don’t have a thing for your siblings.

Besides, you already have a boyfriend, one that your brother dislikes. You don’t really get why he doesn’t like Bede—maybe all the pastel colors clashing with Spikemuth’s aesthetic?—but you don’t ask. You don’t want a lecture. You know how your brother gets. He’s a bit longwinded and stupid.

And well, maybe that one time that Bede had destroyed a national monument with the ex-chairman’s elephant and committed essential terrorism has something to do with it, but you don’t think Piers has any room to talk or complain. At least Bede’s stupidity had inadvertently helped to save the region. Your brother’s stupidity and its many forms have almost caused international conflicts. You still remember how he and the rest of his friends almost caused an accident in Orre. Or was it Almia? There have been too many cases for you to remember.

As you have said, your brother is stupid, and that time that he and Spikemuth’s Gym Trainers had almost crashed the Galarian economy definitely contributes to your perception of him. Really, why not send in a resignation letter? That’s how most people go about it. Hell, that’s what Uncle Grimsley had done with his own Elite Four position.

Though at the thought of Grimsley, you frown. Now that you think about it, maybe an excessive fondness for little boys runs in the family? You’ve unfortunately seen many pictures of him and his little boytoy—he doesn’t call his lover a boywife like your brother does to his—that he met at Pasio, some kid named Scottie. Thankfully, none of them are as explicit, more on the disgustingly cutesy side, the sort that makes you want to throw rocks at couples in the park on Valentine’s Day.

It isn’t by choice of course. Unfortunately, Uncle Grimsley is persistent, and he knows all of your numbers and social media accounts. Plus, you aren't rude enough to block him. He even sends emails, and no one besides seventy-year-olds and haggard college students use emails anymore. Much like your brother, he’s hopelessly smitten with a little boy. Couldn’t even wait seven more years like most celebrities and their illicit affairs.

At the very least, Uncle Grimsley is fun, very fun. He takes you surfing on his Sharpedo, buys you expensive snacks that your brother doesn’t let you have— _too much fat and sugar_ he says—and shows you how to cheat at cards, roulette, and slots. Granted, that time had ended with the police showing up to stop a casino-wide brawl, one instigated by your uncle to escape debt collectors, and with you and your uncle hiding in a cramped girls’ bathroom stall for hours.

You have had enough of piss and its smell for a lifetime. Really, why was there piss on the wall?

Furthermore, you also like Uncle Grimsley and his gifts even if he isn’t normally invited to family events and reunions nowadays. Though that doesn’t stop him. He always shows up uninvited and with a smile, a nervous Scottie now in tow behind him.

Nonetheless, you digress. You had deigned not to go with Victor, Hop, and Bede today. Perhaps it’s rude of you to leave your boyfriend to an unpleasantly detailed fate—Victor, much like your brother, is talkative and incredibly spiteful, if much smarter—but you think it’s fair.

Bede had forgotten your birthday last month until the last minute. Even with Bede’s numerous and sincere apologies, you had been rather hurt at that. The handmade cake, Opal’s famous recipe and personally baked by your boyfriend, that you had gotten the day after had dulled a bit of the pain, but it hadn’t been enough.

And well, you wanted some time away from him, not for any diabolical reasons but for ones pertaining to your relationship with him.

You want to get him a nice gift for your anniversary after all.

It is a lovely day in Stow-on-Side, and you are currently at the flea market with Allister in search of a gift.

You want something nice yet antique since Bede likes those things—maybe a teapot or a music box?—and Allister had offered to help. As a resident of Stow-on-Side, he knows how to spot counterfeits and scams.

That and his Gengar has a penchant for terrifying the merchants into honesty. Unlike Allister and his shyness, Gengar has no problem with threatening everyone within a ten-mile-radius. Rather, he takes a rather discerning glee in it.

He’s a bit like Pancham in that sense, but less disgustingly cute. You remember the video Victor had sent you of Pancham yawning, stuffed Scorbunny plushie held against his little bear chest. The thing had been much taller than him, floppy white ears falling over his arms and white, spindly legs dragging on the floor behind him.

Little monster is too cute for his own good, and he knows it.

You also know because your brother, big dummy that he is, complains at every chance he gets, and then Raihan complains to you whenever he babysits.

Really, you just think that your brother’s mad because Pancham cockblocks him at every chance he gets—“blue balls syndrome” as it were.

You don’t understand why he doesn’t just tell Victor or set up some cameras to catch Pancham in the act.

But your brother is a dummy too, so it’s understandable.

Your lovable, dummy brother, but still a dummy of astonishing standing.

Whatever the case, you wouldn’t trade him for anything or anyone in the world.

As stupid, annoying, and frankly, disgusting as he can be, Piers is still your brother.

And you love him very much.

You are certain of that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like to think Raihan's rubbed off on Marnie hence her language, and he's the most normal person in the group. Though that brings up a lot of questions about everyone else tbh.
> 
> And the apple doesn't fall far from the tree tbh...Pancham has to get everything from somewhere...
> 
> But still yeah, Piers just radiates siscon energy to me tbh. Same goes for Leon and brocon energy.

**Author's Note:**

> I actually enjoy doing second-person and first-person more than third-person since I get to be snappier with my brand of humor and it eliminates the sense of "objectivity" that comes with third-person but fanfiction culture is hard...I usually go for third-person since that's what people read...
> 
> Also chugging along with a Male!Rocket Grunt/Green (rival) fic. It's more shmoopy than anything since I want a breather from my normal style of stories.


End file.
